What Say We?
by NotTasha
Summary: Directly follows Siege III. Spoilers. McKay finally gets some sleep and Sheppard goes looking for him
1. Long Walk off a Short Pier

SEASON: Second Season - directly after "Siege III"  
MAJOR CHARACTERS: McKay and Sheppard  
DISCLAIMERS: The characters, Atlantis, etc, all belong to Sony, MGM, Gecko, Showtime, the Sci-Fi Channel. I own nothing.   
SUMMARY: Following the events of "Siege I, II and III". McKay needs some sleep  
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Thank you Tipper and SableCain for your comments and help.  
SPOILERS: major spoilers for Siege I, II and III

**WHAT SAY WE?**

**Part 1: A LONG WALK OFF A SHORT PIER**

McKay strode along the hallway, leaving Sheppard at the Gate. He should have taken a minute to check on the major, find out if he could help with Ford, but really there was too much to do. He couldn't just stand around waiting for a plan to be put into motion. He had to get Atlantis put back together. He had to get moving. He had to move, otherwise –

They'd come so close to dying. All of them.

He squinted as he remembered the nuclear flash. Seconds. He'd counted down the seconds, trying to gauge the perfect timing – weighing the length of time it took the radiation to dissipate to acceptable levels against figuring the point where the Wraith might catch sight of the city below. When, exactly, to lower the shield and replace it with the jumper's cloak.

Five seconds, he'd said. He wasn't a brave man – he knew from experience that finding a good hiding place was often the best means of avoiding a bully – but he wasn't about to let himself be fried. Five seconds had seemed entirely too short a span of time when faced with irradiation.

His hesitation might have killed them all. He was damn lucky that the Wraith hadn't seen through their ruse, hadn't glanced the city before the cloak took it away. He might have killed them all – but – he'd chosen rightly in the end. He puffed his chest as he walked. Of course, he'd get it right; after all, he was Dr. Rodney McKay.

He could solve anything. Fix any problem. Put anything right. He had to. He was responsible for coming up with solutions – he was responsible for all the answers. He was a thinker, after all. Sometimes, it seemed, he spent too much time with his thoughts.

They'd saved the city. Sure, the place was in shambles, but they had a ZPM now. Everything would be fine. The non-essential personnel would return from the Alpha Site, the place would be swept and dusted, everything would be put back in its place. So it was imperative that he started moving again, so that the work could commence. This was no time for sitting still.

He should contact Zelenka– find out if everything had functioned correctly on his end. The Czech hadn't responded to his inquiries and that wasn't like him at all. _Should go check on him,_ Rodney thought, as he continued along. But for some reason, his feet kept moving him forward instead of making the turn that would take him to the Jumper hangar. He just kept going.

Everything would be exactly like it was before – but better. They had the ZPM! And the Daedalus! He couldn't wait to speak to the Asgard. Imagine how much he'd learn! A wealth of knowledge awaited tapping. So unlike humans – absolutely '_alien'_. Maybe he'd even teach Hermiod a thing or two. And Rodney smiled at that thought. Yes, what with the ZPM, the Daedalus and the Asgard, everything would be better than before.

Except –

Except that Peter Grodin was dead – a good man – and all those soldiers and Athosians – either dead or swept up by the Wraith, which was just another way of saying 'dead'. He couldn't imagine what it'd be like – to be taken like that. My God, to be trapped on a hive ship, cocooned and helpless? The thought gave him the willies.

So many gone, and he didn't even know the soldiers' names. Should he have known their names? – and Ford. _Good God, what about Ford?_

His steps faltered as he stepped through the hallway and he remembered how the young lieutenant had been – how he had changed. He rested a hand against a wall and breathed.

_What happened to Ford -- that was SO wrong._

With a start, he realized his hesitation. It was a deliberate decision to shove off the wall and walk again. Inertia was so much simpler. _But, you must keep moving,_ he told himself. _There's so much yet to do. There's no time for rest. No reason to dwell on what cannot be changed. _There were too many things that he didn't want to think about.

'_What the hell's the matter with Ford?'_ McKay thought as he clipped along the hallway. Oh, the astrophysicist had been happy when the lieutenant had been found alive – one less soul to haunt him. And, he'd been glad to see Aiden awake and walking despite the earlier grim prognosis. But now? _He'd attacked Carson. Carson of all people!_

_Something's seriously wrong with Ford. He's not acting like himself – not at all. And what about his eye? Talk about a freak show! That can't be right. He nearly strangled Carson – might've snapped his neck like a chicken-bone._

Rodney rubbed at his neck as he walked, putting distance between himself and the infirmary. He could check on his friend – _his friends_ – see how Carson and the major were faring after their encounters with Lt. Ford – check on Zelenka to find out why he hadn't bothered answering the radio -- but there was no time for that now. No, there was so much to do.

_Hope they're okay. Nothing went wrong during the cloak, so maybe Radek just wandered off to get some rest. He deserved it. The major will be fine. He has Teyla and Weir and everyone with him. Ford – hope he's all right,_ McKay thought as he walked, turning the energy from his nervous fears into forward motion. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. 

_The lieutenant seemed so peculiar – so wrong. What about the look on his face when he attacked Carson? That wasn't Aiden Ford! Not the man he'd come to know and respect_. And what had Rodney McKay done to free Carson from the attack? Nothing. He'd just stood to the side and gaped like an idiot.

_Why'd Ford have to hang around me while I was working? I felt like he was looking right through me most of the time – as if he couldn't even see me anymore. Freaky weird crazy-eye! How am I supposed to work with that hanging over me? I should check on Beckett. Yeah, make sure Carson's doing okay. _

_Should have figured out a way to shut down the Gate when Ford activated it, _Rodney thought. _There should have been a way! Should have figured out how to submerge the city as well – yoyo or not. I should have kept that option handy. I would've figured it out, given time. Well, if I'm going that far, I should have figured out how to launch Atlantis into space. The Ancients did it. If they figured it out, I could have, too._

McKay drew his mouth into a grim line and strode onward – he had to get things done. He tripped up on a gap in the flooring as he moved from one section of the city to another. He lost his stride but gained it again, rubbing his eyes as he realized the pressing weight of the work in front of him.

He had so much to comprehend, now that the city was fully operational – so much potential! He had to take it in, to figure everything out – because he was the best man for the job – the genius – the smartest human in the galaxy. He was the Answer Man – and answers were something they definitely needed at that moment.

Coming to a T in the hallway, he turned a little too sharply and winced, feeling the pains of a bruised back ripple through him. It seemed like ages ago that he'd fallen at the weapon's platform – the artificial gravity returning – Grodin.

_Oh – Peter…_

He quickened his step, as if to distance himself from his somber thoughts – for there was so much yet to be done. With Grodin gone, who would take on the responsibility of 'managing' the city? He blinked, head down, avoiding the glance of anyone who might cross his path, seeing no one. If he paused, for even a moment, if he were to sit down and rest his head in his hands, he wouldn't be able to get back up again.

Dead – he'd been dead on his feet when Sheppard make his asinine, ill-conceived, pigheaded, selfless, kamikaze attack on the hive ship. Rodney'd had no idea how he'd held himself together, as he listened to the play-by-play, as the major had announced his approach on the hive ship, as he gave them the details of his imminent end. Rodney could do little more than count down the seconds.

It seemed that he was always counting seconds.

A buzz had filled his head and he'd sensed that awful weightlessness that came before passing out. Yet he'd remained upright – determined to be there to hear every moment, to be there for Sheppard even if the man didn't know it. He'd waited, listening, unable to do a thing, unable to stop his friend from sacrificing himself.

And then the deadly moments – the explosion of the Wraith hive ship. And where there should have been exaltation, he'd felt was only grief and reproach. If he'd only managed to get the power source operational! If he'd only been able to make the chair function – then Sheppard wouldn't be dead! – his own incompetence killed a friend.

As he strode through the hallways, Rodney remembered the sorrow, and he closed his eyes a moment. He shook his head, and as his shoulder glanced the wall, he opened his eyes again. _No time for remembrance,_ he told himself. _You have to keep moving. There's so much that needs doing._

The price of protecting Atlantis had seemed too high in those moments after the jumper had disappeared from their screens. Major Sheppard was gone.

He'd miss John – he'd miss him a lot. It was selfish – he knew that – but in the end, it was all about Rodney McKay. What would give Rodney McKay the greatest satisfaction? What would make Rodney McKay most comfortable? What would keep Rodney McKay happy and feeling good about himself?

Who would he hang out with when not ensconced in his lab? Who would he talk to when he just wanted to shoot the breeze? Who would take his jabs and jibes? Who would return the banter without getting annoyed? He'd liked having someone around who'd put up with him – someone who didn't take offense at his every statement. He liked knowing someone who could keep up with him. He'd miss it. Rather self-centered, but that realization was no surprise.

Then, in the too-long seconds after the Hive Ship's destruction, he'd looked to Beckett with the chilling recognition that one of them would have to go next. Lovely price for having the ATA gene – one of them would have to take the other nuke-laden jumper to meet the same fate to remove the last Hive Ship, and he wondered how he was going to fast talk Beckett into that job. Because, of course, Dr. Rodney McKay was the smartest man in Atlantis and it would have made no sense to snuff out that flame. And he'd miss Carson, too.

And then, a familiar voice had come over the comm. All Rodney's weariness had come crashing down on him then. He'd come so close to falling into a puddle.

As if in memory, Rodney stumbled. His legs didn't seem to remember how to continue forward motion. McKay grimaced, leaning against the wall to find his equilibrium. _There's no time for this_, he reminded himself as he shoved away and kept going. He had too much yet to do. So much destruction had been visited upon their home, and at the same time, so much potential had opened up.

He had been on his last legs when the Daedalus arrived; Carson's stimulants had run their course long ago and he'd been getting by on nothing but willpower and bad attitude. Surely, he had been on the verge of collapsing. When Caldwell had spoken to him over the comm, he'd been wading through a dream, hardly even awake anymore. "Present!" he spouted, as if he was still in school – half-asleep from too many long nights of study. God, he'd never dreamed of this in his school years – nothing had even come close.

Then the ZPM arrived, and he was certain he was dreaming. "What say we get the shields up," Sheppard had said – and it was probably the most intelligent thing the major had ever said. _Yes, what say we._

The weariness had fled him, the moment he'd touched the device. It had invigorated him as if the power it contained leached right into him. He found the strength to move again. Of course, nearly meeting his end with the Wraith had helped rouse him. He'd dreamed of seeing the city run on this power since he'd first stepped foot through the stargate. Then, he'd damn-near let the city be destroyed when he couldn't get the ZPM properly installed immediately. _Idiot!_

_Snap!_ He'd come that damn close.

But he'd managed it, hadn't he? Yes, of course he would. Had there been any doubt? He'd found his second wind – or rather his sixth or seventh wind – and had been cruising on that ZPM high ever since.

Rodney continued clomping along the hallway. So much to do. Atlantis was in shambles – dive-bombing darts had done their damage, destroying walls and leaving raw wounds on the structure of the city – gaping holes. So much had been destroyed, ruined, broken. So much needed his attention now. Too many of his people had been evacuated to the Alpha Site, leaving a skeleton crew to do the monumental job of stitching things back in place to get the city into fighting shape. _They'll be coming back now, won't they?_

Soon Atlantis would be teaming with its regular medley of personnel, augmented by the newcomers. Yes, throngs of civilians and soldiers would fill the city.

But not everyone would be back. There were gaping holes in the roster – the raw wounds.

Rodney nodded, his head dipping and heavy. Too many dead. Too damn many. How was he supposed to handle that? Surely the Daedalus didn't bring adequate replacements for the likes of Grodin, Gall and Abrams, or Dumais, Johnson, Wagner, Hayes and Peterson… Ford.

There would be no replacing them.

He wasn't meant for this. He was schooled to work in a lab, to contentedly mess about with computers, to grow comfortably fat. He wasn't trained to watch his friends die. He wasn't ready for that. There should be a course offered somewhere – study materials – '_how to witness the deaths of coworkers and get on with your life'_. Hunching his shoulders, he moved onward, walking. He had to get to work. There was so much to do. If only Grodin were still around, he'd…

There were bodies in Atlantis – he'd seen them – dead people and he didn't even know their names – others who were missing and he didn't even know their names. And Ford. 

_What was the matter with Ford?_

He walked. He walked and walked, needing to get somewhere – to fix something – because everything needed fixing. The city was in shambles. It had to be fixed if he wanted to survive this. He had to get working because he wanted to live. He wanted to keep on walking and breathing and exploring and LIVING. He had to save the city to keep himself alive. He wasn't going to let Atlantis fall to the Wraith. No – he wouldn't let that happen.

He didn't want to end up like Gall or Abrams – or even Ford for that matter. What the _HELL_ was the matter with Ford? Aiden might have gotten them all killed! If the Wraith had seen through their ruse…

And McKay pressed a hand to his chest, terrified of what it would be like – to die at the hands of the Wraith.

Rodney McKay didn't want to die. He'd do anything to keep that from happening.

He stopped – came to a full stop because something suddenly blocked him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but everything seemed so blurred. A whooshing hiss filled the air and a brisk cool breeze touched his face. He lifted a hand to touch his cheek and then to rub at his eyes again. He leaned forward, pressing his torso against something cold and firm. One of his hands reached down and he gripped it – a railing -- cold. Perplexed by the sensations, he opened his eyes to stare out at the roiling sea.

He blinked stupidly. "Where?" he muttered, and then wobbled. "What?" he whispered, not understanding this at all. How could he be at the pier? He couldn't have walked this far.

As he gazed out at the sea, he felt his legs tremble. "What say we have a little sit down," he uttered softly. Numbly, he lowered his free hand, grasping the railing and steadying himself. "Yeah, a sit down."

It was as if his body lost all its strength, and his legs buckled. He crumbled to the ground at the base of the railing, ending up in a loose ball on the open deck.

And beyond him, the sea rolled.

**TBC**


	2. Shave and a Haircut

**WHAT SAY WE?**

**PART 2: SHAVE AND A HAIRCUT**

He rested where he'd fallen – half turned on his stomach -- and blinked in the low light. One hand clenched at the cloth beneath his hand as he considered closing his eyes and continuing his sleep, but his gaze moved past the white of the sheets and fastened on the dreaded alarm clock he'd bought in Germany all those years ago.

_Damn_… He'd slept long enough. With a groan, and a shake of his head, Sheppard pressed himself upright. Wincing, he wondered whether anyone would miss him for another hour. No one could fault him for wanting to sleep in – just once. But… he had to be somewhere. There was this strange feeling that he needed to get out of his room and take care of something.

Almost without thinking, he stumbled to his feet and began unbuttoning the shirt that he hadn't bothered removing the previous night.

Sheppard had retreated to his quarters without really considering sleep. Determined to continue his search for Ford, he'd planned to change his clothing, take a shower maybe. But he'd sat on the bed to remove his boots, and exhaustion had taken him.

_Ford – damn it, Ford._ The lieutenant had been clever. The ATA gene wasn't required to dial the Gate from the jumper. The automatic launch system had taken over from there – and he'd brought the jumper to a hostile planet, where any exploration required preparation. The corrosive atmosphere was enough to give anyone pause, but he'd been smart enough to leave the jumper too near the Gate to allow another through. Assembling a team that could travel on foot, properly suited-up, took time. And when they'd made it through to M4P-881, Ford was long gone.

Sheppard had returned with a dead feeling in his chest, returning the puddlejumper through the event horizon to Atlantis, to meet a sea of anxious faces. He'd nodded grimly at Weir as he disembarked in the hanger with Teyla at his side. He'd expected to find McKay there, too, shouting out questions in that rat-a-tat manner of his, but the physicist hadn't been there, and Sheppard was half-glad to have avoided him. Weir asked only a question or two, then wisely let him be.

Then, he'd slept for eight hours – felt like two.

He squinted at his image in the mirror and ran a hand haphazardly through his hair, trying – without success – to bring it under control. He probably needed a haircut, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Shower -- he needed a shower. The hand moved to his chin – and a shave. A manipulation of his jaw -- and his teeth definitely needed brushing. A change of clothes was absolutely necessary, he thought as he flung the shirt to one corner of the room. Breakfast – he was jonesing for some bacon. Maybe the Daedalus brought some along with the other supplies. Yeah, he could use some bacon. He could use a lot of things.

_There's something I got to do_, he thought, not knowing what.

With a yawn, he grabbed a towel and made his way to the shower.

"Anything new about Ford?" Sheppard asked as he strode into the Gateroom, showered, shaved, (unshorn) and shoved full of properly-cured pork products.

"Nada," the man at the gate returned without lifting his pale eyes from the display. It took a moment for Sheppard to remember his name – Marymere – usually on the night shift. It was a bit of a shock to find the night-guy working at this hour – to find creepy Marymere with his black hair and white complexion here instead of the salt-of-the-earth, steady-as-a-rock Peter Grodin. The technician looked too much like a Wraith for John's liking.

Sheppard gave the man a curt nod and continued on his path. Grodin was gone – one of many. The major had read through the reports, had seen the names listed – the dead, the wounded, the missing. Ford's name had yet to be added to that list. Maybe they just didn't know how to classify his departure yet.

The Gateroom was all a'bustle with scientists, newly returned from the Alpha Site. They seemed far too perky to fit into Sheppard's weary world, and he did his best to avoid them. How the hell could they have so much energy, so much zeal, when he felt as if a series of semis had run him down?

The scientists were organizing the repairs to the city, trying to figure out what to do first, and what to do next. Kavanagh was shouting to a knot of civilians, attempting to get them motivated, but nobody looked as if they wanted to follow his command. 

Doctors Stanley and Sappho were morosely huddled at a display, pointing and piddling about at the keyboard, but not seeming to accomplish anything. Sappho was scowling about something, and Stanley looked at her askance, her mouth drawn tight as if she were considering laughing at her humorless companion, but a smile might have broken her face.

Burnaby and Powell were frowning, leaning against the balcony, watching the work of their colleagues, bitching about it no doubt, but doing nothing themselves.

A few soldiers stood about. Daniels and King were trying to look enthusiastic about standing around. Wilmington leaned against one wall, chatting to Dunne. The young soldier was trying to keep a straight face while the older man quietly cajoled him. Major Lorne, newly arrived with the Daedalus, gave them severe look and the two quieted. Finn was fidgeting around with a toolbox, trying not to get caught by Kavanagh.

"Just another day at the beach," Sheppard muttered as he skirted the room and continued up the stairway.

He sighed and found his way along the upper level, looking for someone who knew what was going on -- someone whose word could be trusted. He cringed when he heard the shout -- "Major Sheppard!" Kavanagh, finding his previous audience insufficient, tramped up the stairs. "Major, listen," he called as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm going to need some muscle. They've assigned me to get some of the repairs done. I could use about a dozen of your soldiers to get the projects moving so that I free myself to more important work. I _MUST_ get back to my lab. Just consign them to me and I'll give them their orders." And he smiled smugly.

"Not now," Sheppard returned quietly.

Kavanagh made a face. "This isn't my problem! I was assigned! This place is in chaos! I can't believe that it was allowed to deteriorate into this state. Some people just can keep on top of things. They have no organization skills and let things go to crap. And guess who gets assigned the dirty work? Yeah, that's right -- me." And he frowned haughtily. "I'll have to get things fixed, but I'll need some more men. You should have a few extras just sitting around now, right? So if you'd just…"

"Kavanagh," Sheppard ground out. "My men gave everything they had to protect this city. They're getting some much-deserved rest. Those that are able to work at the moment are already assigned duties for the day. Those that are sleeping are going to keep sleeping until they feel like getting up. Everyone else is either in the infirmary or dead."

The response brought the big scientist up short. He lifted his chin a fraction. "We've suffered as well," he returned. "We've lost good men, too."

There was no denying that, and Sheppard wasn't about to get into a pissing match with the big freak. He was too damn tired of fighting. "I'll assign some men when we can free them up," Sheppard told him, knowing that Kavanagh wasn't asking for anything extraordinary. The repairs needed to be done – and as quickly as possible.

Kavanagh nodded, accepting this. He dipped his head a moment and muttered, "I'm sorry about Lt. Ford."

The statement surprised the Major. He looked to the man, expecting some sort of comeback – some snide addition to the simple statement.

When Sheppard said nothing, Kavanagh shrugged, looking uncomfortable, finally concluding, "That's all," and turned abruptly to descend the stairs and return to his little pod of people.

Sheppard shook his head, not knowing what to make of the exchange. Unable to understand it, he continued along the upper level of the Gateroom, until he came to one quiet corner in the ruckus. He let out a breath, glad. "Hey," he greeted.

A head bobbed up from behind a computer screen. "Good day, Major," the accented voice returned. His eyes returned to the display, and he rested his head on a hand.

"Surprised to find you up and around, Radek," Sheppard continued. "After what happened." He tapped his own head to illustrate where Ford had clobbered the scientist.

The Czech shrugged. "It wasn't a serious blow," he explained. "I thank you for coming to check on me last night. It was unnecessary."

"It was necessary," John restated, remembering his visit to the infirmary, when Zelenka was quiet as a mouse, looking up at everyone with overly large eyes – not seeming to comprehend anything around him.

Zelenka sighed. "I was able to rest long enough," he returned, touching his head. "But now I am awake. I find it easy to take – how do you say – _cat-naps_ -- during the day – than to sleep all night."

"The doctor said you were able to go back to work?" Sheppard asked.

"What could he say?" Zelenka responded. "I spent the night in the infirmary, but could only remain at rest for so long."

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

Zelenka raised his eyes to watch the ebb and flow of scientists around him. Wearily, he looked toward Sheppard. "They do not understand what it was like," he explained. "They are excited, like children, and are glad that our Atlantis survived. They are glad to be back." With a sigh, he repeated. "They do not understand."

"Yeah," Sheppard responded. It was true. Everyone seemed far too jolly and energetic in the Gateroom – everyone was straining to get moving, bopping around like everything was right in the world. They had no idea. Even the soldiers that arrived on the Daedalus seemed too animated. Only their weary-eyed Marines, and a small group on the upper level knew.

The major watched them for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Zelenka's computer. The Czech was scanning systems of some sort – the display was filled with what appeared to be a map of circuits or ducts or maybe a septic system. Sheppard couldn't begin to comprehend it. And there was this odd feeling niggling at him. "You seen McKay yet?" he asked.

Radek shrugged. "I have only been awake for a short time," he explained. "I have not seen him, but I suspect that he is sleeping still. He slept very little since everything began. Two- three hours, maybe."

"Three hours a day?" Sheppard asked.

Zelenka sighed. "In total," he responded.

"What?" Sheppard returned sharply.

Radek sighed again. "When we discovered that twelve additional Hive ships were approaching -- he was asleep at his computer. First time I had seen him sleep. I was ashamed to awaken him, but it had to be done." Zelenka shifted his jaw and then stated, "I knew that he would understand what to do." And, returning his gaze to the screen, he added, "Rodney was so tired."

Sheppard harrumphed that this information. "Did anyone see if he made it back to his room last night?"

Again, Zelenka shrugged. "I don't know," he replied. "I was unconscious at the time."

Sheppard nodded and winced. What could he say? "I'm sorry about that."

"Yes, we are all sorry."

Sheppard watched Radek rub a hand at the back of his head as he continued to stare at the screen, turning his attention elsewhere. "I hope that Rodney's sleeping in his room," Zelenka finally declared. "He deserves some rest."

"What say we find out?" Sheppard declared.

Radek contemplated, then nodded as he pushed himself up from his seat. "Now that we have the ZPM, it is not foolish to use the sensors when it is… convenient." And he smiled. "We will see if he is in his room."

Radek smiled serenely, in his element as he settled himself behind the life sign system. The device, already active, responded to his commands as he called up the section of Atlantis surrounding McKay's quarters. "I hope he's not already at work," the Czech muttered. "It would be like him." And he tipped his head to see the screen.

Sheppard frowned as he regarded the floor plan, easily finding McKay's room and next-door lab -- empty. "Damn," Sheppard muttered.

Zelenka let out a slow breath. "So… he is not there," he uttered unnecessarily as he took in the blip-free space. A glance to Sheppard, and he added, "We shall find him." A frustrated shake of his head. "But, I don't know where to look. He should be here…" and he gestured to the room around him. "Or there." And he pointed to the empty square illustrated on the screen.

"Widen it out," Sheppard commanded.

Zelenka did as he was told with a wary expression. "We will be unable to tell which representation is Rodney," he explained. "There are so many people here now…" The screen changed to a wider view. Dots flourished everywhere.

"Keep going," Sheppard said softly. "All the way out."

Giving Sheppard a worried glance, the engineer stated, "This is not like the situation surrounding Lt. Ford." Almost to assure himself, Radek restated, "He will not be in the water."

"Keep going," Sheppard repeated, watching as Radek pulled out the view, far enough to take in all of the city and the water beyond. For a moment, neither said anything. Sheppard still felt it – that _off_ sensation.

Finally, with an audible sigh, Radek stated, "You see." And he gestured to the 'water' around the image. "He is not there."

Sheppard wasn't ready to relax yet. Something wasn't right. Okay, there were a lot of things that weren't right at the moment – Ford for one, the destruction and death that surrounded them was another. Even the newcomers felt strange to him. John had become used to the select few that had spent nearly a year in Atlantis. The new people felt like interlopers to them – mere Earthlings when the rest of them had become Atlantians. His gaze still moved as he expected a telltale dot to appear, as if he expected to _KNOW_ when they came across Rodney. As his eyes tracked, he noted one lone blip – far off on a lonely pier.

_Oh, for the love of…_

Zelenka followed his gaze and scowled. "There is no work scheduled for that area. It was not known to be damaged in the attacks. I don't know who would be there," he commented.

"I do," Sheppard responded, and turned sharply to stride out of the Gateroom at a fast clip.

**TBC**


	3. So Says You

**WHAT SAY WE?**

**PART 3: SO SAYS YOU**

"McKay?" Sheppard called as he completed his long trek to the pier. There were no transporters close enough to shorten the distance, and it had taken him longer than expected to reach his destination. _Why the hell had McKay gone all the way out here? _John held the Life Sign Detector in front of himself, tracking the only other visible dot. He'd turned off the radio because there'd been no answer – only the annoying prattle of too many people trying to get too much done in too little time, and he was sick of hearing them. 

"McKay!" he tried again. _Nothing._

The search continued as he stepped through the doorway and onto the exposed pier. A chilled breeze lifted his hair and he stared out over the ocean, recalling the last time he'd spent time outside, seeing the 'almost beautiful' bombardment. The image had filled his dreams – like a Technicolor vision – he'd never forget it. Now, instead of an otherwise invisible shield blossoming in color, he saw only the gray sky and felt the raw wind.

He checked the sensor again, wondering if he had made a mistake. There appeared to be no one out here. Still, the detector showed the presence of another. He gripped his P90 with one hand – ready – as he made his way down the stairway. Who would be out in this unpleasant weather?

Then, as he came around, he caught sight of the form crumpled at the base of the railing -- a man as familiar as a brother. "Son of a bitch," he muttered as he sprinted the last steps to the fallen scientist.

_No_, he demanded. _Not now… no… Not after all we've been through! Not after everything that's happened!_ The life sign detector, still clutched in his hand, displayed two dots. _Not dead… not dead…_ Sheppard reassured himself.

"Rodney?" he called, falling to his knees beside the Canadian. McKay was curled on his side, his back to the sea, his face pale and still. A damp mist covered him. "Rodney?" Sheppard called again. Had a Wraith gotten to him? No… McKay didn't show any signs of a 'feeding'. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't appear to be hurt.

With a twitch and a snort, McKay drew in a breath, blowing it out noisily. John grinned at the snore. _Asleep_, he determined. Never before had he been so pleased to find someone 'sawing logs'. _But, asleep here? What was he thinking? _John hissed in commiseration as he pressed a hand against one side of McKay's face and finding him as cold as ice.

John set the P90 to one side, shucked off his jacket and tucked it around the man. "Come on, McKay," he uttered as he gently slapped the physicist's face. McKay responded with a groan.

Determinedly, Sheppard leveraged McKay upright, keeping the jacket around his shoulders. "McKay! Wake up!" His voice let it be known that he'd brook no argument on the matter. "McKay! Get your goddamn eyes open!"

Eyelids fluttered – their lashes festooned with droplets of water -- and weary blue eyes looked beyond him. "Mmmph," McKay garbled out, his head bowing forward, his eyes closing again.

"Damn it, McKay, no screwing around! Wake up!" and Sheppard gave him a fierce shake.

"M'up," McKay mumbled. "Up… I'm up." And he blinked wearily, turning to face the Major. His sleepy expression gave way to one of confusion as he took in the situation. "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse. He coughed to clear his throat, conscientiously turning away. "What are we doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same question," Sheppard responded, sitting on his heels. He studied the man, wondering if anything was wrong with him outside of pure exhaustion.

McKay stretched awkwardly, as if his back hurt, then maneuvered the jacket about, pulling his arms into the sleeves and tugging the garment close to him. "It's cold," he grumbled, frowning at his position, sitting on the floor. "What happened? I'm freezing. Not feeling so well…" And then, perhaps seeing something in Sheppard's expression, he went on, "The Wraith are back! Oh God, they figured it out. I've got to get back to the…"

"The Wraith aren't back! The plan worked." Sheppard assured him.

"Oh, thank God," McKay muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. He seemed to relax a moment, but that didn't last. He felt his watch before he looked at it, and an expression of horror crossed him as he noted the time. "AM or PM?" he asked anxiously.

"AM," Sheppard informed.

"Oh God. I have to get back. I have to get back, now!" He pressed down on Sheppard's shoulder, making an attempt to leverage himself upward, but between the cold and his fatigue, it was a struggle.

"Nothing's happening!" Sheppard snapped, knocking McKay's hand from his shoulder and robbing him of any altitude he'd been able to gain. "Just relax a minute, okay?"

Perturbed, McKay went on, "You're joking. There's so much that I have to get done. I need to send out teams to assess the extent of the damage, determine which systems need to be fixed first, determine the proper protocols for re-establishing each, then assign the correct groups to repair the specific damage. They'll each need to report their findings and be briefed on the inter-workings of each system, and I'm the only one who knows how they all worked together, now that Peter's gone..." His hands, which had been moving about to illustrate his lecture, came to a stop as he was met with John's stare. "I have to get moving."

But, instead of trying to get to his feet again, McKay huddled in the jacket, pressing his back against the railing. "If you just give me a minute…" he murmured.

"We got everyone back," Sheppard assured. "They're taking care of these things, hopping around like jackrabbits. Kavanagh's trying to run the show…"

McKay snorted in derision.

"… but Zelenka and the others will keep him in line. They've been doing everything you mentioned."

"Radek?" McKay waved away anything else Sheppard had to say. "What happened to him?" He looked genuinely concerned. "I was trying to reach him on the radio just before…" He touched his ear as if to finger his radio's earpiece and frowned to find it dangling at his chest.

"Ford," Sheppard completed. "Ford hit him. Knocked him out."

Rodney's jaw dropped at this news, and quivered. It may have just been a shiver from the cold though. "Ford knocked out Radek?" McKay asked in disbelief. "Why the hell would he do that? Radek wouldn't hurt him! What did Ford think he'd do? Shoot him or something? My God, did he think one of us would shoot him?"

Sheppard remained quiet a moment, remembering that he'd used the Wraith stunner on the man, and he wondered how far he would go if the situation warranted it. "I don't know exactly what happened," John explained. "Zelenka's fine. That guy said it was just a glancing blow. No serious damage."

"Guy?" McKay asked curiously. "What guy?"

_Aw damn,_ Sheppard thought, angry with himself for even bringing it up. "You know… that guy that works with Beckett."

"Guy? Plenty of 'guys' work in the infirmary. A doctor maybe?"

"Yes! A doctor!"

"You're not going to make me play 20 questions are you?"

Sheppard smiled calculatingly at that comment. "Why, maybe I am. I'll give you a hint…" he started. "He's tall and black and…"

"Oh!" McKay exclaimed. "_THAT_ guy."

"So you know him."

"Of course I know him."

"I'm thinking you don't. Just prove it."

Rodney looked smug. "He was sitting at the same table the last time we had dinner in the mess."

John tried to remember how long it had been since they'd had time to sit down and eat a full meal in the mess hall. Yeah, that was right – the doctor had been at the table. They'd exchanged a word or two before he finished and went about his business. _Damn. _"So, say his name and I'll tell you if you're thinking of the right guy."

For a moment, Rodney regarded the Major. Then he smiled smugly. "No," he answered. "You're not getting it out of me!"

"Damn it, McKay!" Sheppard growled. "You don't know anyone's name. You called Radek just about anything that starts with a Z. I heard 'Zemeckis' once, think you called him 'Zamboni' a couple times. And I swear I heard you calling Pfeffer 'Dr. Pepper'."

"Did not!"

"Oh! You know you did!"

"Well, it was an obvious mistake. Anyone might have made the… slip. Besides, I was doing it in jest. Yes, that's it."

"You don't know the guy's name."

"I do," Rodney responded, crossing his arms over his chest, looking as haughty as all hell. "And I'm not going to be the one to give up the goods." He sniffled again and tightened his arms. He frowned as he noticed the sleeves. "This isn't my jacket!" he declared.

"I know," Sheppard returned. "Don't get snot over it or anything."

McKay scowled at him. The effect was ruined by a sneeze. "Great, just great. I'm catching a cold. Just what I need. You know, I catch a cold this quick!" and he snapped his fingers.

"You spent the night outside on the pier, McKay," Sheppard chastised. "What were you thinking?"

McKay looked away, as if truly taking in his location for the first time. When he met Sheppard's eyes, John didn't miss the look of fear that filled them. "I don't know how I got here," McKay whispered. "I remember walking somewhere last night. I was trying to get… somewhere but…" He lifted a hand in a pointless gesture. " I must be losing my mind." And he drew up his legs to rest his head on his knees.

"Naw," Sheppard was quick to counter. He clapped a hand against McKay's shoulder. "Just so damn tired you couldn't think straight. What say we get off the pier and find someplace warmer?" Without waiting for a response, he gripped McKay's arm, picked up his weapon, and stood. "Come on," he urged.

Taking more effort than it should, McKay stumbled to his feet, using both Sheppard and the railing for support. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" the genius proclaimed as he straightened. "Stiff… ow… my back…ooo… foot's asleep... oof!"

"Come on. You'll feel better once you get moving around."

"So says you!"

"We'll get inside. You'll get yourself cleaned up a bit," Sheppard provided. "Then we'll get something hot to eat."

"Yeah, yeah," McKay muttered.

"Let's go," Sheppard commanded and made his way to the door. In his shirtsleeves, he was already getting cold. It would have been damn uncomfortable to spend the night out here. Hopefully no serious damage was done. How tired was McKay to sleep out here? How could someone do that?

Wrapping his arms around himself, McKay followed where Sheppard led. "Not everyone," the physicist muttered.

"What?" Sheppard asked. Maybe the cold HAD done something to McKay's brain.

"You said that everyone had returned. Not everyone."

With a sigh, Sheppard agreed. "Not everyone."

The doors shut behind them and they were back in the comfort of Atlantis. The warmth surprised Sheppard, making him wonder if the whole city was being kept at pleasant temperatures. He hadn't noticed if the hallways had been heated on his way out. Atlantis probably just 'knew' when someone was in the area – and now that there was a ZPM to power the city, little enhancements like this were being discovered. He'd have to ask McKay about it, but he doubted that the Canadian was feeling the heat much at the moment. Rodney still shivered as he clutched the jacket close, sniffling miserably as they walked.

"Is Carson okay?" McKay asked.

"He's fine."

"Bates?"

"They sent him home. Everett, too."

"Too bad," McKay said, genuinely. "I really didn't get a chance to know Everett, but I'm going to miss Sgt. Bates. He had this great way of getting to the point. And Peter. I'll certainly miss Peter," McKay said softly. "Doesn't seem right for him to be gone."

"Doesn't seem right," Sheppard echoed.

"I should have figured out how to save him. I shouldn't have let that happen." McKay tightened his arms, jamming his fists against his sides.

"It couldn't be helped."

"Well, that's not true," Rodney snapped. "If I'd been able to connect the system correctly, he would be here right now. If I'd managed to get the weapons platform put back together correctly, Peter wouldn't have died." He made an irritated motion to end that discussion, "And all those Marines and Athosians who died defending the city. I saw them – bodies."

"They've been taken care of."

"Wentworth and Novell and Haas? I saw them in the hallways. And what was the name of that Marine with the square head and the uni-brow?" He ran a thumb across his forehead.

"Matheson," Sheppard supplied. "Hank Matheson."

"He was a decent guy," McKay said with a nod. "Never seemed to mind carrying my gear when we went off-world." He glanced to Sheppard. "Probably hated that though, didn't he? Yeah, bet he had plenty to say about me later. I can never judge people correctly."

"He liked you," Sheppard assured. "Told me that you reminded me of his geeky older brother."

McKay scowled at that term. "I'm not a geek," he declared.

"Didn't say you were. Just that Matheson said you kinda reminded him of his '_brainy'_ brother, and he didn't mind doing stuff for you."

"I hate that term. What? Do people think I bite the heads of chickens? Really, it's more of a moniker for computer technicians. You know, the ones that spend their lives in little dark basement cubicles. Greasy hair." He waved a hand over his somewhat disheveled, unwashed, but relatively grease-free hair. "Pocket protectors… do I wear a pocket protector?" and he gestured to the jacket, frowning when he remembered it wasn't his own. "I'd like to think I was something more than just… you know… one of those."

"I didn't mean to say that you were one."

"Geek sounds too much like freak and I really don't…."

"McKay!"

"I liked him, though – Sgt. Matheson. And now he's..." There was a pause, before McKay started again. " Maybe I could… send a note to his brother or something."

"That'd be nice."

"So many people died." McKay glanced up at his companion as they moved through the hallway. "You died, too."

Sheppard chuckled dryly. "Hate to spoil things for you, but I'm still here."

"For about 20 seconds, you were dead," McKay responded bitterly. "First it was 'So long, Rodney,' and then you ran off before I could say anything."

"You would've stopped me."

"You're damn right! And then the Hive Ship exploded and for about 20 seconds you were dead." Angrily McKay shoved his hands into the jacket pockets. "Rather inconsiderate of you."

"Sorry," Sheppard bit back. "But I was trying to save Atlantis." Glaring at Rodney, he added, "And I had the same 20 seconds, you know that? I didn't know if you'd gotten the damn shield up in time. For 20 seconds I got smacked upside the head with the crappiest ironic twist imaginable. Here I was, prepared to give up my life to save everyone – yet I was left thinking I was the only one that made it out alive. My act of 'heroism' was turned into just an escape from doom. Goddamn it, for those 20 seconds, all I could think was that I should've been there with the rest of you."

"Yes, you should have been," McKay responded.

"So we'd all get blown up?"

"No," McKay replied, yanking his hands from his pockets to gesture. "Because I would've been able to get the chair functioning and everything would have worked out. All I needed was a little time and I would have managed it."

Sheppard lowered his voice, "We just didn't know how much time there was. If I'd known that the Daedalus was on our doorstep…"

"Yes, but you should have listened to me. You should always listen to me."

"Yeah, I know," Sheppard responded.

"'So long, Rodney,' what kind of goodbye is that?"

"It was all I could think of."

"Where was the… 'It's been great working with you, Dr. McKay. I've become a better person just to know you. I feel that our working together has been enjoyable, and our collaboration has been beneficial to the entire city and…"

"What say we drop this for now," Sheppard replied tiredly.

"I just didn't care for your farewell."

"I didn't care much for it either."

And they walked in silence for a time. Rodney sniffling and shivering, glancing off the walls from time-to-time. Shepard regarded his friend, seeing the weariness that was still etched around his eyes, noting the slow tread. Yeah, Rodney hadn't quite recovered from the long long days that preceded this – and the pier was no place to make a bed.

McKay had given everything he could to save the city.

"Greene," Sheppard tried quietly.

"What?" McKay responded, pivoting his head, looking for the declared color.

"That guy… he's Dr. Greene, isn't he?"

McKay barked out a laugh, "Stephen?" He shook his head as he tittered away. "You think Stephen's the black guy? You do know who Stephen Greene is, don't you?"

Sheppard mentally kicked himself, remembering the doctor – who was far from being a black man.

"Oh, that's a good one," McKay went on.

Sheppard sneered at him and the pair kept walking.

McKay's soft laugh tapered off, and a somber expression replaced the cheerful one. "I have so much work to do," he stated. He walked with a wobble, running into the wall and allowing himself to be deflected by it.

"Not today. Today we hang loose."

"Can't. I couldn't possibly leave the city in this shape. I have to get back to the Gateroom."

"You have good people, McKay -- well-rested, good people. They got things moving already. They'll take care of things."

McKay tucked his chin to his chest and muttered, "They're the best there is."

"See! And, hell, they won't let that moron, Kavanagh, get too far."

McKay made a face, half a grin, before he suppressed it and stated, "He's not a moron, you know. He has a brilliant mind. It's just that there's… something missing."

"Humanity," Sheppard filled in. "Compassion."

"Those qualities don't exist in our field."

"Yeah, they do," Sheppard responded, putting out an arm to help steady the scientist who was treading his way along one wall, scraping one shoulder against it, determined to return to the Gateroom and get back to work. "Even Kavanagh can show it on occasion."

They said nothing for a while, McKay toddling along, and Sheppard at his side, doing his best to keep the scientist from colliding with anything. Their pace slowed, and McKay sighed tiredly. The physicist looked around, as if considering a place to sit down.

"I think the Daedalus brought coffee," John commented.

"Coffee?" The note of delight was impossible to miss.

"And bacon. I know they have bacon. I got me a heap of it for breakfast. I was looking forward to a BLT for lunch."

"Did they bring tomatoes?" McKay asked, suspicious.

"Naw, but there's those red vegetable things we got from P55-688."

"Tomatoes are technically fruit," McKay informed, but thoughtfully, he added, "They should do just fine. And I suppose we can use that leafy stuff from P2L-477. It'd work for lettuce. We may have some Mayo left in those little packets. And maybe there's still some bread from the Capilanos." He nodded. "Oh! Oh! And a big cup of coffee," McKay sighed, looking as if he was already dreaming.

"I think they even have a couple racks of Diet Coke stowed away on that ship. Someone told me that their Asgard is hooked on the stuff."

McKay snorted. "Improbable," he muttered, still he looked intrigued. His pace quickened. God, it had been ages since he'd been able to indulge in his Diet-Coke-habit.

"What say we get back to our rooms, clean up – you give me back my coat. We get some massive BLTs, steal some of the Diet Coke, and get you a vat of coffee. We'll let your guys take care of things for the afternoon. They'll manage it. You can jump back in tomorrow. We just spend the rest of the day sitting back, relaxing a little. I think we've earned it. What say we get started."

With a grin, McKay echoed, "Yes, what say we…" And they continued to make their way into their city.

**THE END**


End file.
